


The Lies We Tell

by Charlie9646



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Children, Darker take on marriage law, Depression, F/M, Kissing, Mental Illness, Post War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, marriage law, suicidal character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22968133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie9646/pseuds/Charlie9646
Summary: The worst kinds of lies, we even believe ourselves.Ronald Weasley was dead, and the wizarding world got the bright idea to make a law that everyone had to marry. Most got their choice, though the goal of the law was more half-bloods.Besides Hermione, she could have fought it, but she doesn't have the will to do so, not unlike Draco himself.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56
Collections: Hermione's Haven Bingo 2020





	The Lies We Tell

“We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry.”

Hermione Jean Malfoy woke up in a cold sweat, next to her asleep was Draco, her husband. His long sweaty white-blonde hair hung in his face. The early morning light streamed through the window; it was finally early enough to get out of bed. She had been up on and off for hours. The nightmares haunted her days seemed to take over her whole mind when she tried desperately to sleep.

That mostly had to do with the man sleeping next to her, than anything else. She and the Malfoy heir we're not enemies to lovers, they weren't crossing lines for something better, they were stuck together, mashed because the world, the magical world needed more babies. They required more purebloods, and since they couldn't get that?

They would take the half-bloods they could get.

It should have been easy, she should have been able to marry Ron Weasley, and all would be right. Well, the truth was that it wasn't an option. Ron was dead. His life was snuffed out before he had even lived. He died in an explosion, one moment he was laughing and the next he was gone.

She could have married one of the other Weasleys under the law, and the truth was maybe she should of. But, looking at George, Percy, or even Charlie? All Hermione could see was Ron. His blue eyes, his freckled skin, his laugh, his sense of humor, and all that made him well him.

That was how she ended up married to Draco. He couldn't marry the woman he loved, Astoria; she was married to Colin Creevy— though she did have to admit that they seemed rather happy, at least as much as you could be when the law forces you to marry someone. Those two barely knew each other, unlike Draco and herself. Harry got to be with Ginny, not that she was mad about that fact. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Harry.

Remus and Pansy Parkinson was an interesting pair, though that may have been to keep her in place. Severus Snape of all people ended up with Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius was dead; he had died in the same explosion that had killed Ron.

In a different world, she and Narcissa may have bonded over shared loss, but the world they lived in well, they acted more like snarling beasts than women. Neither wanted to reach out and offer a kind hand to the other. Sometimes, in the darkest parts of her mind,Hermione dreamed of lighting the manor on fire and just going to bed. That was such a horrible and dangerous thought process. The world didn’t need any of them.

Narcissa was a more ghost than woman, Severus was just depression crossed stitched into anger, she was like a vampire spending most of her nights awake haunting a home that never really could be hers, but Draco he was like some goulash thing that barely spoke. Surely if everyone experienced what they were, they would reverse the law, wouldn’t they?

But, they haven’t reversed the law, and it had been over two years. It had taken them almost a year to have sex; it was not making love; it never would be making love. Hermione didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he imagined that she was someone else, but if she was honest with herself, she was doing the same. When she woke up at around two am that night, Malfoy wasn’t in bed.

Hermione found him wrapped in a blanket asleep on a patio chair on the balcony. Was he that disgusted by the sight of her he couldn’t be bothered to stay in bed? How would he view their children if he could barely look at her?

Hermione never discovered the answer to that question, at least not at the moment. She was not pregnant now. And Hermione hadn’t been for the last year. Sometimes she wondered if something was wrong with either her or Malfoy because as it stood,the only couple she knew of not to have conceived or already had children were the couple down the hall. But, that had more to do with the fact Narcissa and Snape refused to share a bed, let alone have sex.

Hermione didn't want to think about the sex life or lack thereof of her former potion’s professor or her mother in law, but that was just the way the cookie seemed to crumble in the world they lived in now. She walked out into the sitting room, hoping for a quiet morning alone. But, instead, she was faced with a sullen-looking Snape.

Hermione knew she shouldn't hate him; he was just as trapped in this wretched situation as she was. But—she did—Hermione did hate him. He was a miserable, horrible excuse for a man. It had nothing, not a bloody God Damn Thing to with the fact he had once been a death eater. She spent most of her days around former death eaters and their supporters, no it had to do with the fact the man seemed to live to mock her. As if in this manor, he had nothing else to bring him joy, but her pain, her suffering. Sometimes she wished that she had not saved him from bleeding out on the dirt floor of the shrieking shack. But, who then would they have matched Narcissa with?

Who would be the man who had taken on the role of man of the manor? Someone who was one of Voldemort's half-blood supporters? Remus? Or maybe one of her friends would have been forced to be with a woman old enough to be his mother?

Maybe it was best that Snape was not dead— even if he was like a thick black thorn in her side.

He looked up from his morning paper at her with sharp snake-like black eyes and said, “Good Morning, Granger.”

She hissed, “Must you call me that Snape? It’s too early for your shit.”

Snape cocked his head to the side, “Language Ms. Granger. Isn’t it that your name, after all? Or at least the one you prefer?”

“Would you do me a favor and just shut it, please just once?”

He laughed, the cruelness of the sound filled her ears. “I will when you learn to keep your nose out of others lives, Hermione.”

She wanted to pick up the white tea mug off the coffee table and slam it into his ungrateful head. But, instead, she settled for snarling, “I will when you learn to shower like the rest of us.”

His greasy, stringy hair hung over his ears, she had to admit he didn’t smell, and it was a rather low blow. But, the man seemed to bring out the very worst in her. A house-elf walked into the sitting room it’s large ears wiggling back and forth as it moved, Gibby was her name or something like that. If she was correct, that was Dobby’s mother, but she was just as loyal to the Malfoy family as he was not.

“I happen to shower every night, Granger. Just like you can’t tame that mop that thing you call hair, this is what I am stuck with.”

“You could cut it.”

“And you could shut your bloody mouth, Hermione. Though that seems above your intellectual capacity.”

“Whatever,” she hissed at him, both were desperate for the last word. They did this every morning, or nearly at least.

He went to make another snide comment, but then

the elderly house grumbled about mudbloods and half-blood traitors in the manor. Her mistress was only a few steps behind her. In another life would have said Narcissa looked something like a regal queen. But, scowl on her pale face ruined that.

She said to both of them, ”Can you please for once not act like the children that you are clearly not? For the love of Merlin, no one cares what either of you thinks! The law isn't going to change because you two act like toddlers. I never did believe my mother that muggle blood made you into more of an ape than a man... But then I was forced to live with you two. Now I believe her; she was right.”

Severus whispered to Hermione, ”At we can say, our parents weren't third cousins.”

Hermione couldn't help herself; she giggled; Snape could be funny when he wanted to— in a dry cruel sort of way.

Narcissa snarled then said, ”For the love of all that's...”

Draco stepped into the sitting room. His shoulder-length hair fell around his face like a thin sheer curtain. His pale blue-grey eyes were downcast; his narrow slight shoulders curled forward, he looked so lost. Hermione knew better, though; her husband was like a tinderbox waiting to explode in your face.

He was like a snow leopard, beautiful, striking, but dangerous when fearful or cornered. This man was a Malfoy, and that was not to be forgotten. Hermione had to keep her walls up, had to protect herself from him. She had been dropped straight into the viper pit, and she could never forget that.

Hermione was here to both produce an heir, to provide more half-bloods, but also to keep the three people in this room in line. The ministry insisted she marry Malfoy so she could be here to watch over the two former death eater’s and the wife of one.

***************************

Hermione sat next to Harry in the courtroom of the Ministry. Today was trial for Narcissa, Draco, and Snape. The three were on trial together because of the fact their stories were intertwined from the beginning of the second war to the very end.

Narcissa looked like a Victorian widow dressed in a heavy paramatta silk dress; she looked as if she had stepped straight out of the muggle history books of Hermione’s childhood. Lucius Malfoy was dead—he had died during the final battle—leaving his wife and son to face the crimes that he committed.Draco looked far younger than his seventeen years; he was so pale that his skin was pale as his white-blonde hair. Severus Snape, on the other hand, held his head high. His beak-like nose, his filled with cooling embers colored black eyes, his pale downright sickly pale skin. His long skeletal like fingers were clasped in front of him.

Maybe it was the comment he had made to her months prior, in his hospital room. The observation that Snape had spit into her face, ”How dare you? How dare you, you stupid utterly stupid little know it all you steal from me the only thing I have ever wanted. My escape, my death!”

Those words haunted Hermione, echoing through her head like a bouncing rubber ball. They rattled in her ears to this day. She didn't know he wanted to die! But, on the same token, that was his mental illness talking, sane people did not want to die for the sake of merely dying. She wondered if he would have gotten his wish, would he have been called a martyr? Would he of been held up as the spy who died for their cause?

Inevitably, people after so much suffering, after so much loss, after so much pain? They needed heroes. They needed people to cry over and to hold up even if the person you were holding up was not a martyr but someone who took their own life.

Hermione felt horrible that she barely listened to the trial until she heard the words that would change her life forever. Draco Malfoy’s only punishment would be under the new marriage law, is his choice of wife would be taken from him. He was to marry Hermione Jean Granger.

The man did not seem to be strong and proud the way his father had once been, Draco looked like a boy, a boy who had all the choices in his life taken from him. Even right down to his choice of who to marry, but the truth was Hermione too had lost control of her life as well.

But, the truth was she was likely just an unthought casualty, just the same as so many before her. Hermione was like many women who came before her. She was seen as a piece of property to pass around and give away like some child’s toy. Though just like King Henry’s six wives, she could not say no. Hermione Jean Granger, for all that she was and would ever be, under the new law was just and would always just be a woman.

A baby maker.

Something to repopulate the wizarding world. The truth was under the new marriage law, Hermione and all women like her; they had no voice. For the greater good, they claimed, the greater good could burn it all to hell for all Hermione Jean Granger cared. But, she knew in her heart that she would go through with it, she would marry Draco Lucius Malfoy. Not because she cared about him. Not because of the fact she loved him, truth be told she hated him. But, she could not bring her parents back; the spell on them was irreversible.

The only family Hermione had was Harry. The just world he had ever felt truly at home in was the wizarding world. To not follow through with the law was to leave the wizarding world and never look back. She couldn't do that. So, Hermione would do her duty and become the new Mrs. Malfoy. She would pray to whatever God there was, though, that one day and one day soon, hopefully, the law would be reversed.

******************************

Draco and Hermione stood at an altar in the gardens of Malfoy manor. Pink and white roses surrounded them. Ginny had claimed they were beautiful, but the very sight of them made her want to gag.The Malfoy heir was dressed in white silk robes; he looked like an angel. He had to marry her or go to prison.

He stared down at her and muttered, ”Why does this feel more like an execution than a wedding?”

Hermione said, ”Because, it's the death of our freedom. It's the death of our chance at a normal life.”

He smirked at her, reminding of her of the boy he once was. The boy did not seem so depressed. The boy who did not look like he was drowning in a blanket of depression, he could not escape. He seemed less like Draco and more like Malfoy. She hated that boy, but she was grateful to see him once more. The sky was blue, magic was a beautiful thing, and Draco Malfoy was a snarky bastard.

”Granger, I don't know about you, but I have never been normal.”

Maybe this marriage wouldn't be too terrible; she thought to herself as she said her vows. Hermione would never love Draco, but perhaps they could grow to understand each other. Maybe just maybe they could make some life out of this mess— if they both decided that they wanted to make the best of this situation. The situation that was their marriage.

***************************

They had been married for two years, six months, and three days. Hermione Jean Malfoy was, after all this time, finally pregnant. She did not know whether to be grateful, angry, happy, or maybe it was just that she felt nothing at all. She was going to be a mother, and the father of the said child was Draco Malfoy. A man who at worst she loathed and at best she tolerated. How in the world were they going to raise this poor child to what was some semblance of what was a normal person?

Draco seemed to have given up on life. The old Hermione would have said whatever, he can drown himself in whatever the hell he was drowning himself in, and she would bulldozer straight through raising this child. She would raise him or her into the perfect little anti-Malfoy that they could be. Civil rights defending, house-elf freeing, muggleborn supporting, Gryffindor.

He could let the pain shallow him mind, body, and soul— for all she cared. But, a small part of Hermione hoped Draco would come to and decide that his child at least if not their marriage was worth living for, truly living for. 

Hermione walked toward her husband, head held high. ”Draco, I am pregnant.”

”You are?” He said to her, his blue eyes wide with shock.

”I am.”

”How far along are you?”

”Two months give or take.” Hermione's hand tangled in her curls, tugging at them.

Draco set his papers aside and muttered, ” We have time to prepare at least.” He then said nothing else, which upset Hermione more than the depression because it seemed he didn't care about anything. For sure, not her, but the truth for fear was that he would not care for their child.

***************************

Hermione finally was able to eat without getting sick. Narcissa was kinder to her now— though she doubted it had much to do with herself and more to do with the fact she carried the woman’s grandchild. She took a sip of her tea and then set the cup down.

Draco had decided to try to go to work as a curse breaker for Gringotts. She was happy that he was at least trying to do something. Trying it seemed to figure out a way to live. Snape had decided to take a job; maybe her pregnancy made them realize reality existed out there.

Or it might have just been her explosive temper during the beginning of her pregnancy, but they deserved it though. Maybe Hermione was slightly illogical, but she had been mostly trapped in Malfoy manor for years. She was allowed to visit her friends, allowed to go and do things, but until she had a child? Hermione was not allowed to have a job. Sometimes it felt as if her life was on a standstill. But, four more months of pregnancy, however many months, it felt like she should stay home with the baby, and then she could escape.

It wasn't as if she and Draco could divorce, and it wasn't like she could get this crazy high-level job. But,even working as a secretary or worse a waitress at the leaky cauldron, it would be something—a reason to get out of bed—even if she barely sleep at night.

She stared out from the balcony of her room at the gardens. Hermione barely heard the French doors open.But, she did hear her husband’s boots hit the stone floor.

”Good afternoon, Hermione.”

”Good afternoon, Draco.”

”How is the baby doing?” Asked Draco, tugging at his pale blond hair. ”And you?”

Hermione smiled at him, ”We both are doing well, all things considered, though I am bored out of my mind.”

”Want to take a walk in the gardens with me?” Draco questioned with much worry. He seemed nervous if anything, which shocked Hermione considerably. Why would Draco Lucius Malfoy of all people be worried about asking her anything? Surely it was just about the baby.

”I would love to, Draco.” Said Hermione, ”I miss the sunshine on my face.”

Maybe they could make this work, whatever this was for there son, they had to.

************************

Hermione did not know how they ended up doing this, and honestly, she questioned her sanity, and yet it felt right. The law was not going to change; she was going to have to accept that she would have to live and die as Hermione Malfoy.

She realized she had fallen in love with her husband, at least in a sense. It was a good thing that Hermione had done so, or at least that is what she believed in her heart. Draco, too it seemed to have grown to love her. He kissed her hair, rested his hand on her rounded stomach, and whispered, ”Not long now, Mione.”

”Only a month or so.” Said Hermione, ”It seems both so far away and yet so near.”

Draco shocked her with what he said, ”I think we should name him Regulus. Regulus Daniel, after my cousin and your dad.”

She turned to face him and then kissed him. This her life now and perhaps it would be a happy one. Draco pulled away from her and smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, or least Hermione didn't think it did, at least not entirely. She suspected that neither did hers— either.

”I think that's a beautiful name Draco, and I am happy you want to honor my father as well.”

Smiled again at her husband and then they went to the dining room, to their truly odd little family.

***************************

Hermione watched as her son Regulus opened his Christmas presents, ripping into the bright colored paper with the joy only a child could muster. His hair was a pale blond, his eyes bright blue, he was turning five soon, and his baby sister Lyra Rose sat next to him. With her pale golden curls, and violet-colored eyes. They were happy children, truly loved. Even grumpy Severus at times would give into the children— if he were anyone else, Hermione would believe he liked them.

Narcissa handed her grandchildren their presents, ”I hope you both like them,” she said softly to the children.

When all the paper was torn off the packages, and the toys we're all played with and set aside, Hermione knew what was coming. She never had and never would be invited to take the annual trek out to Lucius’s grave. Narcissa no longer wore mourning clothes, but she clearly missed her dead husband. Hermione could understand that— even if she believed the man not to worthy of being remembered.

She bundled her children up in their coats and helped them into their boots. Hermione kissed each of their foreheads and said, ”You both be good for your daddy and grandma.”

Both children nodded, and then Draco pulled her close to kiss her. His lips tasted like the cocoa he had earlier.

”Be good too, Draco,” she whispered. ”And I will see you when you get back. Lyra is finally getting over her cold, so make sure she doesn't overdo it.”

”Will do.” He smiled at her and then took the most important people in her life with him—to visit the grave of a man who would have happily killed her—if he would have had the chance.

Hermione watched Severus out of the corner of her eye pour himself another glass of fire whiskey. He took a sip of it and muttered, ”I don't know what's more pathetic that you lie to yourself, the lies that you tell him, or the fact you believe the lies he tells you.”

”Must you try and ruin everything, Severus?” Hermione snapped her face becoming heated with anger. ”I am trying to make the best out this can't you see that?”

”I can see it, but don't understand why.” Severus said with some shock. ”Now I get it, Granger. It's because you're a fool-hearted Gryffindor always trying to look on the bright side.”

She rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of fire whiskey, ”Better than a pessimistic Slytherin.”

”Mrs. Malfoy, I am a realist, not a pessimist.”

”My husband is a realist, Snape; you are very different than he is. You only see the darkness, not the light. Only the bad, never the good. Lily’s dead Severus, she's been gone for nearly thirty years— it's time to let go.”

”He doesn't love you, Hermione, he wishes you were someone else. I have moved on, but have you?”

”No, you have not; you still hold a candle for her. At least Ron returned my feelings. You assume that I don't feel the same as Draco?”Asked Hermione. ”That I don't wish he was Ron? This law has taken every single choice from us, Severus, every single one of us. But, the most important that it has stolen from us is also the essential thing a person should be able to choose— who they want to spend the rest of their life with.

I don't get spend the rest of my life with the man of my dreams Severus, just as you don't get to the rest of your wretched one with the woman of your dreams, but you know what? I have kids to think about, a little boy and a little girl who love me, their father, their grandmother, and for some stupid reason, you're a stupid ass.

They don't have to believe that their lives are perfect, but you want to know what? They don't need you to bring reality to their lives. So keep your bloody mouth shut around my kids. The lies I tell myself are my business— the same as your own. I have grown to care for Draco, and I believe Draco has come to care for me. That's more than most people can say all things considered.”

Severus said nothing for once in all the years she had known him. He was dumbstruck.

”Proud of yourself, Hermione?”

”Severus, finish your drink and shut it.”

The former professor laughed, soundly a mournful laugh that was painful in its own way. 

Hermione made love to Draco later that night, and she knew in her heart; they were both lying to each other. But, it came to down to it—they both needed someone—even if it was not the person they honestly wished it was.

”I wish you were what I wanted.”


End file.
